


no tomorrow without a yesterday

by nightwideopen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, No Smut, Supernatural Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 10:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: Louis likes Harry and Harry likes Louis and they both think the other likes Nick.





	no tomorrow without a yesterday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aheavenlyrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aheavenlyrush/gifts).
  * Inspired by [come on, jump out at me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508404) by [g_uttertrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_uttertrash/pseuds/g_uttertrash). 



> Prompt: _"The world is yours and you can't refuse it_  
>  Seen so much, you could get the blues  
> But that don't mean that you should abuse it  
> Though it's enough just to make you go crazy, crazy, crazy"
> 
> AU that has supernatural elements, a cat, and tarot cards. If you hurt the cat, Louis will hurt you.
> 
> — 
> 
> It's got some past Tomlinshaw and.. I'm not sure if I followed the prompt exactly but I did a bit of a domestic monsters inspired thing in which I made the boys some of the same supernatural creatures.
> 
> Title from Yesterday by Imagine Dragons.
> 
> (I could only link the first part of domestic monsters but please read the whole series it's amazing!)

For a long time, Louis thought that the wear and tear of watching centuries pass would repair itself. He used to think that with each generation that died behind him, the ones he’d known would somehow fade from his memory. He spent years thinking he’d eventually forget how much he misses his family, that he’d forget the way his house smelled while Mum was cooking, the sound of his sisters’ laughter. Louis knows now that not even an eternity could erase the pain of loss or the visceral memories of the only people that he’d ever give up everything for.

He’s learned how to distract himself over the years, and well at that. He’s fought in wars, traveled the world, stolen and cheated and bribed his way out of slipping into an immortality induced depression. He’s settled down a bit now, in this golden age of technology. He never has to leave his house to be thoroughly distracted. It makes his life a lot easier when he can’t be bothered to dig through his mess of a bedroom for the serum that keeps him from turning to dust in the sunlight. He’s a walking cliché, almost: The immortal man with the big house, drapes drawn, never seen. Or at least he was, until Harry came along.

Harry is the only reason that Louis isn’t a hermit by definition. Kind by nature and overbearing at the best of times, Harry can be mistaken for a nosey neighbor. He came over to the scarcely inhabited house everyday for a week, knocking on the door until a disgruntled, hooded Louis flung it open to accept whatever baked gift Harry had in hand on that given day. It got old fairly quickly, and Louis was forced to invite Harry inside and explain to him that he’s not just wasting his life away, that he's just taking a break from a lot of years of too much action. Harry caught on straight away, directly asking him, _Are you a vampire?_ Suffice to say that Louis choked on the scone he’d been munching on. A witch himself, Harry was sensitive to the topic of supernatural secrecy and vowed not to tell anyone, with one condition: He and Louis had to become friends.

_“You want me to what?”_

_“Be my friend.” Harry’s bright green eyes stare eagerly at Louis. “I don't want you cooped up in here for eternity with no company. Besides, my sister is moving out in a few days and I won't have anyone to talk to while Mum’s at work.” He shrugs. “I need a friend, you need a friend. It's only fair.”_

_Louis is wary, squirming in his position on the sofa. He's nearly five hundred years old for God’s sake. He's_ killed _people. Yet here he is, the great Louis Tomlinson getting flustered by a teenage witch. Something strikes him about this boy, be it his infectious grin or how straightforward he's being, but it makes Louis want to have him around all the time. But he shouldn't and he can't._

_“Don't you have to like… go to school?”_

_Harry shrugs, pulling open Louis’ blackout curtains from his seat on the couch with a flick of his wrist. He's surprisingly careful not to open them enough that the sunbeams reach Louis. He's considerate too._

_“I'm homeschooled. Learn more from reading books than from my classes, really. I need to work on my magic, though.  It's really only just started to kick in this year— I'm a late bloomer,” Harry whispers, then returns to a normal tone. “But it's summer now. So I spend most of my time baking and making potions.”_

_“Potions.”_

_He knows what potions are, so he doesn’t know why he phrases it like a question. He makes potions himself, has to for certain remedies that are vampire-specific._

_But Louis has to take a moment just to look at Harry. In all his years he's never met a witch so young, so full of life and so new at magic. He's seen the whole world a dozen times over, but he's never, ever seen someone with light in their eyes as they talked about magic. Or about anything, really. But Harry was almost glowing with it, the room suddenly much brighter than he'd ever seen it, even with the drapes drawn._

_“Yeah!” Harry says, a wide smile splitting his face in two. “Potions is my strong suit. If you ever need a remedy or something, I’d be happy to help. Funny enough, sunlight serum is my specialty, actually. Brews in two days. Mum can't even get it to be done that quickly.”_

_When Louis makes it it takes ten. A smug looks falls onto Harry's features._

_Against his better judgement, Louis says, "Sure.” But the absolutely delight that Harry exudes in that moment is worth it. “I’d love to be friends.”_

_And for the first time in half a century, Louis finds joy at the hands of someone else's._

Louis doesn’t regret it so much as he does rue the day he gave Harry free reign of his dusty mansion. It quickly became Harry’s mission to clean every square inch of it.

That was six years ago, and Harry’s still not finished.

—

“Hey, do you mind if I invite Niall over for dinner tonight?”

They're cuddling on the couch, an activity Louis has specifically labelled a quiet one. Harry tends to speak during these times anyway. Louis is sort of glad for it, as much as his finely tuned ears protest to Harry’s surprisingly loud voice being so close to him. Harry speaking lends to keeping Louis reminded that their relationship and activities are strictly platonic, lest he act on the crush that's been slowly intensifying since their initial meeting. It was creepy when they met, Harry being a mere 17 years old, and it's creepy now. Harry could be an old man and Louis would still feel uncomfortable with his feelings towards the boy, however involuntary they are. A nearly five hundred year age gap is too much for Louis to wrap his head around. He's fairly certain it's wrong on a legal level, if not a moral one.

“Lou?”

Louis is so lost in his thoughts that he forgets Harry had asked a question.

“Huh? What— yeah?”

“Niall. Can I ask him over for dinner.”

“Have you already invited him without asking me first?”

Harry stares at Louis for three straight seconds. “I might’ve.”

Louis laughs. “You moved in two days ago and you're already acting like you own the place. Well,” he scoffs and stands to bring his cereal dish to the sink, “I suppose that’s that then. Tell him to tone down the wolfiness, though, will you? Keeps scaring Whiskers.”

At the sound of her name, she darts into the kitchen, propelling herself onto the kitchen island between Louis and Harry. Harry reaches a hand across it, stroking the kitten’s back, eliciting a purr.

“Still can’t believe you named your poor cat that. She hates it, y’know.”

“I thought I told you two to stop talking behind my back. Besides, it's not as bad your friend Grimshaw with his dog named _Pig_. And keep your loose cannon fingers off my cat.” He defensively scoops her up and away from Harry, even as she meows in protest. “Don’t want you turning her into a hoover like you did with my favorite chair.”

Harry pouts. “That was an _accident_. I changed it back! Besides, she likes Niall. And me. You’re just jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” He’s absolutely jealous, but he’s not about to admit it in front of Whiskers. “I just don’t trust your wonky amateur magic.”

“I’m twenty-three, not stupid.”

Fortunately, the conversation doesn’t get the chance to head into reason why Harry _is_ stupid, because the sound of front door slamming shut alerts them to their guest. Louis rolls his eyes as Niall comes bounding in looking uncharacteristically scruffy, several grocery bags in hand.

“Harry, I _just_ ate.”

“Louis, you don't even _need_ to eat.”

Niall foregoes a proper greeting in favour of tossing the grocery bags onto the kitchen island and wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist. He steals Whiskers away, who goes happily. Louis pretends not to notice, just whining in protest as Niall shushes him and Whiskers licks his face. Her usually orange fur has turned white in his presence, and Louis is sure he's flushed red with envy. Niall just smiles.

“Hiya, Lou,” he says after several moments of silence.

“Hello, Nialler. What are you treating us to today? Wait, no, let me guess.” He pretends to think about it. “Steaks.”

Niall sets Whiskers down on the kitchen island, grinning from ear to ear. “Raw and bloody, just the way you like ‘em.”

“That's how I like my _people_ , lad. Honestly, don't you know me at all?”

Niall is about to answer when the front door slams shut again.

All of Louis’ muscles draw tight, ready to pounce on the intruder. Niall notices, and holds him back.

“Relax, Lou, it’s just Payno and Zayn, they were getting the rest of the stuff from the car. And probably snogging. What's got you so on edge?” He sets about taking the food and drinks out of the bags, spreading them across all of the countertops. “Screw over another French king?” he snickers.

Louis wants to wring Harry’s neck, who has conveniently disappeared.

“First of all, I _was_ a French king. And secondly, I'll have you know that our little friend, _Harold_ , didn't inform me we were having a full on party. He asked if _you_ could come over for dinner.”

“Really?” Niall looks at him funny. “He asked? I figured we were long past that, we all pretty much live here by now.”

“Pretty much,” Louis reminds him.

“Pretty much what?” Zayn’s voice cuts into the room. He's got Liam, Harry, and several bags in tow.

“You're all pretty much pains in my arse.” Louis wipes his face to remove the wet kiss Zayn has just planted on him. “I hope you all know I'm not helping you wankers cook any of this.”

“Why would you?” four voices crow back at him.

—

The food is nearly ready when the doorbell rings.

The five boys look around at each other, confused. They're all there, all accounted for. Louis is about to go get the door when Harry suddenly perks up like he's remembered something, scurrying out of the kitchen and nearly knocking over his barstool in the process.

Louis tries to do the metaphorical math in his head, but he's not quick enough. He's only just begun to mentally scroll through Harry’s list of friends when Nick Grimshaw’s giant head peeks into the room.

“Oh _God,_ ” Louis groans, throwing his head back. It's drowned out by the other three boys greeting Nick loudly. Aren't werewolves supposed to have a pack mentality? Where has their loyalty gone? Louis mutters this to himself, along with, “I don't deserve this betrayal.”

Harry is hanging off Grimshaw, arm around his shoulders. It's borderline boyfriend-ly and enough to make something resembling jealousy settle in Louis’ stomach. He hopes that after nearly half a millennium he knows how to hide it.

He hasn't seen Nick in several weeks, since he stopped by to pick up Harry for a show of some sort. Louis regrets introducing them. Every day that goes by, Harry and Nick bond over Louis' dirty secrets they've accumulated over the years. Quite frankly, he's glad that Harry has someone to drag to awful art shows and indie concerts, but he is sort of tired of the various vague text messages he receives after each outing.

Besides, all seeing Nick's face does to him is propel him centuries into the past when he Nick's relationship was more than just borderline flirty insults.

_“Fancy seeing you here, Tomlinson.”_

_Louis is busy making tea, throwing a splash of milk into his own mug and crinkling his nose at the absolute disappointment of a sugar cube that he's forced to toss into Nick’s. He hates doing it, watching the precious granules dissolve. Louis doesn’t know where Nick gets it from, both of them being from such lower class families. He probably steals it from the rich folks across town. A man after Louis’ own heart. Minus the ruined tea._

_“Really?” Louis replies haughtily, “Because I don’t fancy seeing you anywhere. It’s the worst part of my day, actually.” But he's grinning, can't possibly mean it._

_Nick’s arms wind their way around Louis’ shoulders. Just like any other day, Louis takes a playful nip at the skin of his bicep, draws a little blood from the puncture wounds his fangs make and watches the skin heal in three seconds flat. A yelp of protest escapes Nick’s lips even though they both know it doesn’t hurt._

_“Oh, don't be so dramatic,” Louis says._

_“I’ll stop when you do.”_

_Louis shrugs, turning around in Nick’s hold to place his hands on the taller man’s waist. He’s met with a kiss, rough but quick. It's revenge for yesterday, probably. He deserves it._

_“What’d be the fun in that?”_

_In a blur, Louis moves at superhuman speed to pin Nick against the nearest wall he can find, leaving a crack in the wood. He's still getting used to having so much strength, having broken nearly everything in Nick’s little cottage at least twice in the last week._

_“Oi! Watch yourself there, Lou!” He turns around to assess the damage. "You're gonna knock my bloody house down."_

_"You're ruining the moment." Louis nuzzles into Nick’s neck, only just able to reach the cut of his jaw. “And cut me some slack. I'm just a newborn baby vampire. Don't know me own strength.” He pouts his lower lip for good measure._

_“What are you on about? It's been five years!” Nick’s voice reaches a squeak-like pitch._

_Louis doesn't point out that that's young by vampire standards._

_Nick thinks that just because they were turned in the same year makes them equal somehow. But Louis has been doing his research, unbeknownst to Nick. Neither of them have said anything about the books that have been strewn across the coffee table. Nick probably thinks he's reading in his sleep._

_“Resisting to the change makes it harder to learn control.”_

_A beat of silence passes before Nick rolls his eyes and promptly ends the conversation by kissing Louis again. For real this time._

“Louis, if you’d so kindly stop scowling in the presence of such fantastic company,” Nick politely requests.

“You’re hardly company, Grimshaw. More like a pest. Should I call the exterminator now or...?”

Loud barking interrupts him. He blanches as the dog formerly known as his favorite pet comes trotting into the kitchen.

“You brought your _dog_ to my _house?!”_

Nick grins at him. “Sure did, love.”

He makes to clutch an orange-again Whiskers in his arms, but she's too fast for him. (Too fast for a vampire, go figure.) She launches herself onto the floor and skitters across it to nuzzle into Pig. Nick looks entirely too smug as her fur turns white again.

“Let me get this straight,” Louis says. Niall snorts into his hand. “You show up to my house _uninvited,_ and you bring your bloody hound from hell _—”_

“First of all, it's hellhound. Literally. Second, Lou Bear darling light of my life, I paid for half of this house and everyone here knows that.”

Harry didn't know that.

“I didn’t know that,” Liam mumbles.

“You don’t count.”

Louis crosses the distance between him and Nick, twists the taller man’s nipple, and returns to where he was originally standing all within the blink of an eye. As expected, Nick grapples for his chest and squeals.

“Don't be fucking _rude_ , Nicholas. You're still a guest.”

But he's smirking, challenging Nick to say something like _else_ rude. They've always had a strange way of flirting, pushing each other to the absolute limit in the best way. Louis finds himself missing it sometimes. They'd step on each other's toes and cross all lines of appropriate behaviour, but it worked. It worked for centuries until it didn't.

Nick seems to remember that too. Instead of taking the bait, he settles into one of the barstools opposite Louis and makes a show of sighing.

“I'm _sorry_ , Liam. For all intents and purposes, you do very much count.”

Liam looks bewildered. Harry looks livid. Louis is offended and confused. He needs new friends.

—

Louis gets tired easily. Emotionally, that is. It takes its physical toll, but not very often. The ancient magic in his veins keeps him just on this side of alert at all times. It's when the depression kicks in, when the distractions wear off, when Harry’s loud bustling isn't enough to keep him grounded to the present that he really gets tired, tired enough to sleep through the night and most of the day.

It's a feeling that reminds him of being human. It still surprises him, centuries later, that he's able to remember so viscerally what it felt like to drift to sleep, to be riddled with anxiety, to have his heart thump in his chest with a purpose.

Because sometimes the magic just isn't enough, especially when he's not had human blood in a while. He gets painfully hungry, restless and irritable, he feels genuinely exhausted. It's those times when he feels so achingly human that the flashbacks start. He begins to space out while eating cereal, remembering the wars he's been in. Then it's nodding off on the couch into a proper sleep, only to be startled awake by the clear cut memory of being shot through the chest.

Harry had told him, some time a few years ago, that he shouldn't go so long without feeding. He'd gone so far as to offer himself as a human blood bank. Louis had shouted at him, but understood that enough of his pained whimpers and snippy remarks would be enough to make anyone do something as crazy as that.

_“Why are you doing this?” Louis growls from his blanket nest._

_“Because you're obviously in pain, you don't want to talk about it, you refuse to go outside. I'm not having it. It's a simple fix, just do it.”_

_Harry’s just standing there at the foot of his bed, collar of his shirt pulled away from his neck, looking like a tasty treat. He knows what he's doing, throat bared and pulse jumping. He's eyeing Louis carefully, watching as his fangs drop down from his gums. Louis is watching him right back, eyes flicking from Harry’s face to his neck, unable to control his bodily reactions. He probably looks a mess, hair in disarray from all the tossing and turning he'd done in bed. He was fine the first few nights, but once the rumbling in his stomach started, and the nightmares picked up, and the bags under his eyes turned a dark purple, he'd spent most of the day with his arms wrapped around his abdomen._

_“I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anyone, just let me die.” The words are muffled by his pillow._

_“Have you actually gone insane?”_

_Louis barely hears him, trying to ignore his brain telling him to just bite Harry, just kill him._

_“No, I have not, will you fucking cover yourself up so I can talk to you properly?”_

_Louis hears rustling, hopefully Harry pulling his shirt back over his neck. The bed dips, and when he looks up, Harry’s wearing this kicked puppy look that has Louis wanting to bury his face in his pillow again._

_“Stop looking at me like that. You know I can't. And I'm not going to. Niall comes back tomorrow; I'll be fine, alright? Will you just leave it alone?!”_

_It was supposed to be an unspoken rule that Louis would never drink from Harry. Not only because both of their mothers thrusted similar promises on him, or because of Harry’s precious magic, but because of this inexplicable draw Louis has to the younger lad that he really doesn't want to play around with. In all his life — all four hundred and ninety six years of it — unless he was about to kill, feeding was all too intimate an experience. He can't risk it, not when he feels so fiercely protective of this boy._

_“I don't like seeing you in pain.”_

_And then Harry has to go around saying things like that, making Louis’ stomach clench in an entirely different way._

_“The feeling is mutual," is all the honesty he lets himself utter._

Harry hasn't offered since.

_—_

They decide to watch a movie for some reason, after an hour of Harry preening under Nick’s attention throughout dinner. Louis knows the feeling, honestly, and knows how addicting it can be. Even so, there's a little voice in the back of his head wondering why Harry isn't hanging off of him for compliments. Louis can give him plenty of good compliments. Nick can't even come up with a proper pet name, just keeps calling him “love” as if it means anything.

He ends up sandwiched between Harry and Nick, somehow, with Whiskers in his lap. Her fur has turned jet black and she won't stop wriggling around.

“Why don't you love me?” he mumbles.

She makes a disgruntled sound as he tightens his grip.

“She says you're too needy,” Harry leans over to whisper.

Nick overhears. “She's right, you know. You're quite clingy.”

“Oh, wouldn't you know?” Louis shoots his flirtiest grin. “ _Don't leave me, Lou! The bed’s too cold without you, Lou! My freakishly long limbs ache for your touch, Lou!”_

Nick tosses an arm around Louis’ neck and pulls him close (“Watch my _cat_ , you arse!”), complaining at him through gritted teeth to shut up.

“You really wanna go there, sweetheart? Why don't you tell Harry how you _begged_ me to turn as well so you wouldn't have to spend an eternity alone, eh—?”

Nick only stops there because the television has suddenly split in half. It's throwing sparks, and all eyes whip around to find Harry immediately, who’s looking all too embarrassed and giving himself away entirely. His face flushes red within seconds, and Louis reaches out, about to crack another joke about Harry being a loose cannon when the witch propels himself off of the couch and out of the room.

Five pairs of eyes fall on Louis now, giving him knowing looks. He doesn't waste any time after hearing a door slam before removing himself from Nick’s embrace and going to look for Harry.

Louis finds him in the first place he looks; the attic. It's where Harry keeps his magical plants and his tarot cards that Louis thinks are rigged and his seemingly endless supply of homemade candles.

Louis knocks gently on the door, Whiskers resting on his shoulder.

“Go away, Lou.”

Louis lets himself in. “Not until you tell me why you've blown up our television.”

Harry’s curled up in his bed on top of the covers, looking younger than he has in years. Louis sits next to him, places Whiskers down, who jumps at Harry’s chest, forcing him to roll over. His face is red, and he's obviously been trying not to cry, but the wetness in his eyes is betraying him.

“I _clearly_ don't want to talk about it.” His voice is biting in a way Louis has never heard it before. “Just go away.”

He sits up, putting Whiskers on the bed next to him. He won't look at Louis, just keeps his eyes glued to his own lap and sniffling.

"C'mon, H, there's nothing you can't tell me–"

"I don't have to tell you everything that goes on in my life. Please, leave me alone. Go back to having fun."

“Harry, what the fuck is your problem?”

The last thing Louis expects is for Harry to lunge forward and smash their lips together with all the force he can muster from his position. He gives in for a moment, grabbing Harry’s stupid vintage shirt front and pulling him in. He's wanted this for too long, and the Louis of the last seven years that's been shoved to the back of his brain has just clawed his way to the forefront to take control of his motor functions. Rationality takes a second too long to kick in, but he's finally pushing Harry away, wildly searching his face for some sort of answer as to what in the ever living _fuck_ is going on.

“What…?”

Louis truly doesn't know what to say.

“God.” Harry wriggles free of Louis’ loose grip. He looks angry, face crinkling up in the same way it always has. “Is it not obvious? Everyone else knows that I'm half in love with you, please don't tell me you're that thick, Lou. Six years? Really? I'm not _that_ good at hiding it, honestly. Unless… Unless they were all messing with me and you _don't_ feel the same. Well that's just brilliant—”

For some reason, Louis chooses to ignore the important parts of Harry’s miniature speech.

“Harry, I'm bloody five hundred years old.”

After an agonising ten seconds of silence that Louis counts off in his head, Harry doubles over laughing.

“What?” Louis pleads. “What's funny?”

“I just professed my undying love for you that I've been harbouring pretty much since we met and your only concern is how old you are?”

Louis thinks it's a valid concern. “It's weird! It's why I never told you how I felt!”

“You're technically twenty five! And you– you what?” The smile falls from Harry’s face.

“I think it's pretty obvious.”

“But... you and Nick—?”

“Had a thing years and years ago and it didn't work out. And I've had extremely inappropriate feelings for you for a very long time, Harry Styles.”

“Jesus Christ—”

This time, when Harry kisses him, Louis lets him. He lets him, and he kisses back just the way he's been wanting to. He turns Harry over so that he's pinned underneath the younger’s weight, pulling him down, wanting to be surrounded by him.

“You have no idea–”

“I think I do,” Harry points out.

“Yeah,” Louis says with a smile, “I suppose you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are much appreciated :)


End file.
